


Those Who Favour Fire

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake makes tea and Avon tries to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Favour Fire

The first time Blake makes him tea, they are on some small, insignificant planet in the third sector.

It is winter there; snow as far as the eye can see. Ice is forming on the outside of the cabin windows, blurring the white landscape: white sky, white ground, even the trees are brittle white. It's cold, the sort of cold that makes one think of the emptiness of space. The sort of cold that kills, slowly suffocating the body with weariness until it can do nothing but sink into sleep. Sink into death.

Avon touches the window, hissing as the cold penetrates his skin, making the bones of his hand ache. The pain is a relief, reminding him that there are much worse things than being trapped in a primitive cabin with a man that... disconcerts him.

A hand rests on his shoulder and he jumps slightly. He turns, glaring. "What is it, Blake?"

Blake smiles apologetically and gestures towards the kettle on the fire. "I made tea."

It is a simple, unassuming, statement and it is so like Blake that Avon almost laughs. Then he grows angry. For a moment, he considers punching Blake, but decides there are safer ways of showing his irritation. Avon opens his mouth to tell him to go to hell, but before he can make a sound, Blake's lips press against his. And Blake's mouth is not cold; there is no ice in his touch. He fights it for a moment, tensing, and then Blake touches his hand, conveying warmth to Avon's aching bones.

He melts.

How could he not melt under the heat of Blake's fire? Mouth and hands blaze a trail along his skin, burning the flesh from his body. He arches and twists, one moment fighting to get closer, the next struggling to get away from the intensity that sears his very marrow.

It's too much. He knows it's too much and there's nothing to be done about it because it's also too late. When it comes to Blake, it's always too late.

Blake chuckles and grips his shoulders hard. "Easy, Avon. Easy. We have all the time we need."

He's led to a small bunk, undressed, and settled on his back. For a second, Blake hesitates, and Avon knows it is his last chance to hold back the fire, to deny the heat. Then Blake kisses him again, a gentle press of the lips, and Avon is left helpless.

The moments blur, too fast to comprehend, and he is drowsy with the heat of it.

Blake's hands hold his wrists above his head, Blake's cock pushes into his body, and he, Avon, is moaning, his legs wrapped around Blake's waist.

He asks for harder, faster, more. He wonders what Blake will do with the ashes when he is done.

The fire blazes through him, consuming him, forcing cries from his lips at the pain and pleasure. It is both a victory and a defeat; now he knows how the phoenix must feel. Each consumption by fire is a death and a birth.

When it's over, Avon's surprised to find that he is in one piece.

Blake holds him, strokes his back, his hair, his face, murmuring softly. Avon curls against Blake's chest, trying to block out the words through sheer will, and failing. Blake's fire makes him weak. Next to Blake, everyone is weak.

Then Blake is pulling away, leaving him gasping with cold. He must have made a sound of protest because Blake strokes his hair and kisses his mouth. "Shh, it's all right. I'm just getting our tea."

He curls into a tighter ball, shivering until Blake returns with his shimmering heat.

"Here." Blake props him up against the headboard and wraps his hands around the mug. "This will help warm you."

Avon shakes his head; he'll never be warm again, not without Blake by his side.

Blake frowns and strokes his face. "Drink, Avon."

He does and grimaces at the taste. "How much sweetener did you put in here?"

"A few spoonfuls. Why? Don't you like it sweet?"

Avon shakes his head and takes another sip. No, he doesn't, but he also doesn't want Blake to leave the bed again. So he drinks the too sweet tea and if he leans too closely to Blake it is merely because he is cold and he needs the fire that Blake provides in order to survive.

*****

Avon blinks rapidly, trying to get the words of the report to focus, but he is unsuccessful. The letters blur together, making them impossible to read. Blake will have to wait until he's had some rest. He sets the reports aside and pulls the blanket around his shoulders tightly around his body. Space is cold and black. Black as far as the eye can see. It is the emptiness of death.

He laughs bitterly and shakes his head, wondering how long before the lethargy takes over his body and kills him.

Avon stands and moves to the bed when the comm-unit chimes and Cally announces herself. He sighs and bids her enter.

Then he turns away from the door, meticulously readying the bed for sleep when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes and waits for a warmth that does not come.

"You've been working very hard. I know you want to find Blake, we all do, but you won't help him if you're exhausted." When he doesn't respond, she squeezes his shoulder. "It will be all right, I know it."

Avon shakes his head and turns to her. His eyes narrow as he stares at the mug in her hand. "What's that?"

She smiles. "I thought you might like some tea."

Before he can stop himself, he knocks the mug from her hand, and the tea spills onto the floor, the mug shatters.

She stares at him, her eyes wide with astonishment.

He shrugs and turns away. "I don't drink tea. Now, if you don't mind, I'm tired.

"Yes. All right, Avon."

He listens to her leave and when he is sure that she won't be back, he sits on the bed, stares at the spilled tea, and waits for the cold.


End file.
